About: I grew up in Greeley (GCHS Class of '95!) and have made it so far as the thriving metropolis of Windsor. I had an 8-year detour in Fort Collins as an instructor at CSU and Front Range Community College, but our family has settled here in Windsor and I'm never. Moving. Again. We love it here! I enjoy chocolate, books, dogs and a good step aerobics class. I do not particularly care for cats, mayonnaise or mean people.

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I know I've mentioned it before, but I cannot get over the fact that the "Mommy War" exists. I use this term to describe the extreme judgement that women tend to pass on other women who have made different mothering choices. Some of the 'battles' in the war include: work or stay at home? Organic food or not? Sleep in bed with the parents or crib? Pacifier or not? TV or no TV? Drugs during delivery or natural birth?

I could go on and on. However, the particular battle I want to address today is the question of breast or formula-feeding.

Warning: There may be WAY too much information in this post for some of you. If you are squeamish, stop reading now.

I ran across this article this week and it was as if the author had been in my house when my first-born came home.

Olivia was a pink, healthy 8 lb. 2 oz. baby when she was born. We worked with the hospital lactation specialist and though I had a limited supply, I was assured that indeed, my milk would come in within a couple of days and she would be fine.

It didn't happen.

I would set my alarm for every three hours to try again as I sat in the rocker sobbing out of exhaustion and uncertainty.

I went to follow-up lactation appointments. I did it all "by the book." When we walked into the pediatrician's office for her two-week appointment, I was hopeful she hadn't lost too much weight. At least, if she was getting the necessary nutrition, the sleep deprivation and craziness would be worth it.

My silent tears became full-on shoulder heaving sobs when we put her on the scale and she was just over 6 pounds. She wasn't sleeping. She would fuss for no apparent reason. She was this close to a "failure to thrive" diagnosis and I absolutely lost it.

The doctor was amazing. He was very patient, handed me a Kleenex and waited for me to calm down before gently suggesting that the pros of nursing were not outweighing the cons at this point. I literally had NO SUPPLY.

Never in my life have I felt like more of a failure. This was supposed to be a natural, bonding, beautiful experience where angels sing as my body does what it's supposed to do and nourishes the baby it carried for 40 weeks. The guilt that I felt was like nothing I have ever felt. I felt alone, and I judged myself for my lack of ability to feed my baby.

The first time we gave her a bottle, she gulped it down like her life depended on it. Frankly, it may have. She also slept that night for the first time for longer than 3 hours in a row. The only feeling that overshadowed this aforementioned guilt was the relief I felt when I realized that the baby was getting FOOD. I remember asking my mom, "What would I have done before formula?" Her answer? "You would have hired a wet nurse."

When Olivia started steadily gaining weight and became the Happiest Baby Ever, I knew then and there that our decision had been the right one. She chubbed back up relatively quickly, and other people could help with feedings. It was such a relief to make the switch.

But then? Mommy guilt kicked in again.

"It should be me feeding her. I'm her mother," would go through my head when my husband would do a 2 a.m. feeding.

Then, I saw them together in the rocker. Looking at each other's eyes, spitting images of each other. The trust, dependence and love that was being communicated between the two of them was amazing. It was beautiful and let me fall in love with my husband for a whole new reason. He was bonding with her in a way that he wouldn't have been able to if I had been a successful nursing mom.

I decided to stop feeling guilty and go with what worked for our family.

I have made an active decision since 2008 to sit out the "mommy war" because of this experience. It was not at all what I had hoped. It was not at all what I would have expected. But it worked for our family, and Olivia is happy, healthy and thriving today. She doesn't get sick more than other kids because of the formula. We are bonded. She is bonded with her daddy. She is well-adjusted and smarter than I would have ever dreamed to hope she would be.

And she was formula-fed. (GASP!)

Moms who have not been able to nurse as you'd hoped: You are not alone. You are not a bad mommy. You are a wonderful mommy to realize that your son or daughter needs more than what you can provide by yourself.

I want to encourage everyone to stop judging when people have to make different decisions than you. There is no worse critic on a mom than herself. Why do we insist on judging those who do things differently? Why on earth can't moms become each other's biggest support instead of judging? It gets ugly, people; you know I'm right.

It's sad we can't accept the choices others make if they are different from ours.

So, ladies, can we please waive the mommy white flags? Find what works for your family and stick to your decision confidently. Let's move on to stuff that really matters: helping the poor, fixing our health care system, figuring out how to get Colorado out of the bottom five in the country for public education funding, helping our young men and women who are trying to re-assimilate after their time serving our country overseas, stopping children from being sold into sexual slavery.

There are clearly bigger fish to fry. Truce. Please?

Allyson Zadeh is married with two children and another on the way. Read her Wednesdays on Greeley Moms.

The first time we gave her a bottle, she gulped it down like her life depended on it. Frankly, it may have.